They barely spoke to each other for nearly a month.
Elizabeth attended potions class as usual, but aside from a few words regarding her assignments or classwork, they managed to avoid all contact. Every time Snape caught her eye, she looked away. Every time he came near her for any reason, she moved across the room. During the Felix Felicis maintenance sessions, Snape found reasons not to be in his office. It was cowardly, and he hated that her very presence was having this effect on him, but he couldn't face her. So she maintained the potion unsupervised, and he merely checked the logbook after she'd come and gone. Advanced Potions Club was treated just like class, barely a word between them, and when Snape came in to oversee, Liz often found reasons to leave.
Snape told himself it was for the best. The girl was furious with him, and he was in no position to ask her forgiveness. The way he had behaved was, as she had said, unfair. Cruel. He'd allowed his emotions, his baser instincts, to control him momentarily. And while the decision to throw her out before things could go farther had been, bar-none, the cleverest bloody thing he'd done that night, he should not have put them in that position in the first place. And he had, unfortunately, not been drunk enough to forget a single moment.
Elizabeth's furious expression as she stormed from his office kept flashing into his mind over the next few weeks. The girl had not appreciated her hopes being raised and then dashed. And who could blame her for that? It would be delusional at this point to tell himself she wasn't attracted to him. She'd made her attraction, even her affection, more than clear that night—they both had. But for him to lead her on after all his talk about maintaining distance...to show her with his hands and body exactly how much he wanted her, then to leave her cold…That had been cruel.
She was furious with him. She had the right to be.
All the same, Snape told himself this was a good thing—perhaps she would finally hate him. Perhaps they could finish this year in icy silence, and a somewhat student-teacher dynamic could be restored. It prevented him from having to apologize, and it prevented them from making future mistakes. He even tried to be happy about it.
But it was affecting him more than he cared to admit. With every day that passed knowing the damnable girl was still angry with him, Snape's mood got darker. Never the kindest or most patient teacher, he found himself even less forgiving during classes. Students scattered at his approach. There had been one particularly unfortunate episode involving Potter and the Granger girl—Malfoy and Potter had been bickering, and Malfoy had ended up cursing Granger's teeth to grow absurdly long. Snape had been overly cruel to her about it, causing her to burst into tears. He cringed a little, thinking back on it. Elizabeth's words about not lowering himself to their levels echoed in his ears.
As November dragged on, Snape found himself wishing the girl would just talk to him. He hated this frozen silence from her, but he also did not want to bring it up, to ask for forgiveness. That seemed weak, especially when Snape knew he should be using this opportunity to completely cut ties. To end this ridiculous relationship, whatever it was. But the idea of not trying to make things right with her, or at least apologize for his rash and unwarranted behavior…that, too, seemed weak.
And so he hovered on the edge of action. November dragged by sluggishly, and suddenly the first task of the tournament was upon them. And Snape, after much consideration, had finally decided he must act. For better or worse, he must act.
It was a Tuesday. Classes ended at noon, and the entire school began a mass exodus toward the forest, where a stadium had been set up to house the first Triwizard event. Despite his lack of interest, Snape had nevertheless heard rumors from the rest of the castle faculty that day that the task involved dragons. This seemed to be true, judging from the roars that reached him over the trees as Snape trudged down the path in the wake of excited, jostling students.
He had volunteered to patrol the perimeter of the stadium, in case any students used the chaos to try to slip away. It seemed unlikely. Snape was probably the only one in the castle who felt ambiguous about all of this. Everyone wanted to see which Champions would emerge victorious. Everyone wondered what Potter would do.
The afternoon was clear and crisp; the air smelled of rain, but the sky was cloudless. Snape briefly got a look at the four dragons—a quick, sleek-looking Welsh Green, an aggravated, vicious Chinese Fireball, a sulky Swedish Short-Snout and an absolutely massive Norwegian Ridgeback. Fascinating creatures, to be sure. He vaguely wondered how the Champions would fare, but seeing the dragons was by far the most interesting part. He had no desire to watch the proceedings, so after sharing a few words with McGonagall, he left the stands to begin his patrol.
The roar of the beasts and the hundreds of students dimmed into an easily ignorable hum as he began his path around the stands. The forest was picturesque around him, leaves of gold and red peeking between the evergreens. Snape took a deep breath. Finally, solitude.
After ten minutes of leisurely pacing the perimeter, a fresh roar of applause and screams from the stands marked the entrance of the first Champion. Bagman's muted announcements told him this was Diggory, but Snape stopped listening after that. He turned his eyes back to the trees, his thoughts straying to Elizabeth. The shame had faded—he had accepted he was a coward—but a strange melancholy had taken hold. The whole debacle with that damnable girl filled him with regret. It felt like such a…what? A wasted opportunity? How utterly absurd.
A movement from the corner of his eye caused him to look up to where a figure had just rounded the corner of the stands from the direction of the lavatories around the corner. Even before she came into focus, Snape knew who she was. The auburn highlights in her dark hair glinted in the sunlight, and he thought he would recognize her form anywhere. He'd spent months, after all, hyper-aware of her. He knew what the damnable girl looked like from the corner of his eye.
She was walking briskly toward him, probably headed back to her seat in the Slytherin section, but when she caught sight of him she slowed significantly. As if she could back out now. As if she could stop and turn and run the opposite way without sacrificing all that pride of hers.
Snape remained still, watching blatantly while Elizabeth squared her shoulders and quickened her stride again. She passed by him within a yard, her chin up, her eyes flat and looking anywhere but at him. Snape watched, weighing his options. He needed to speak with her, yes, he had to, but was this really the best time? Mid-task, with the girl on the way back from the facilities? The crowd screaming from the stands, Bagman's distant voice echoing beyond. Only yards away, a dragon was attempting to immolate a teenager.
He almost let her go. She passed him, upping the pace even more, and she was just about to make her clean escape when Snape turned after her.
"Gosling," he said mildly, raising a hand. The girl stopped immediately, mid-stride, coming to a dead halt a few yards from him. He watched her entire body go rigid before she slowly turned to face him. She was pale and straight-faced, but he could sense her fury bubbling underneath.
"Professor," she replied, cold and clipped. Snape took a few steps toward her, and she did not shrink away from him. Her jaw, however, clamped shut and her hands clutched hard at the straps of her book bag. How she must hate him.
Yes. That was it. She must.
"I need to speak to you," Snape said, his tone even and professional. Even so, Elizabeth's eyes widened and a flash of fury crossed her features.
"Here?" she asked, disbelief and anger coloring her words. "Now?"
"Here," Snape replied coolly, as if she was dim-witted. "Now."
She made a strangled noise in her throat as if she simply could not believe his gall. Snape resisted the urge to pinch the bridge of his nose.
"Well?" she said after a moment. How would she react, he wondered, if he admonished her for her barely-concealed hostility toward a teacher? She'd scream then, he was sure of it. She might even strike at him. It was almost tempting.
"I have come to a decision," Snape said. The girl's eyes flickered with confusion now, and she remained silent. "You are hereby relieved of your duties maintaining the Felix Felicis. I believe your punishment has been more than served."
Confusion clouded Elizabeth's features. She had clearly not expected him to take the conversation in this direction.
"What?" she said, her brow knitted.
"You no longer are required to come in daily to stir the potion. I will take charge of it from now on," he said.
He didn't know what he had expected, but Snape wasn't prepared for the pain that filled her eyes. Suddenly, the girl not only looked furious. She also looked like she was about to cry. Snape rushed to explain, to get this hellish interaction over with and stride quickly in the opposite direction.
"Surely," he said, "you have more important studies to focus on than a potion you are already adequately familiar with. It is a waste of your time, and mine."
Elizabeth's mouth opened and closed a few times, and then she stomped toward him, her finger raised accusingly.
"You," she snapped, "are a bastard."
So much for pretenses, Snape thought, resigned, and glanced quickly around to make sure they were alone. He saw no one, but all the same, he grabbed her upper arm and quickly hauled her into the shadows under the bleachers. The screaming of the crowd echoed above them, but it felt strangely private between the rough hewn boards. Strangely intimate.
Snape looked down into the damnable girl's furious green eyes, shining with frustrated tears. She took a step back from him, trying unsuccessfully to wrench away from his vice like grip.
"I am trying," Snape hissed, shaking her slightly by the arm, "to keep from forcing my company upon you. I am trying to give you want you want."
"What I want?" Elizabeth cried, finally ripping away from him. "What I want is a goddamn apology!"
"And what good is that?" Snape growled softly, closing the distance between them. "What purpose would it serve, Miss Gosling, if I were to tell you that I am sorry? How, precisely, would it affect the outcome of this rubbish? It would change nothing."
"It would make me feel better!" the girl snapped. Her raised voice was covered easily by the screams of the crowd above. All the same, Snape glanced up anxiously. If someone saw them, came across them speaking privately like this, close together and obviously heated…
"Come," he said flatly, grabbing her once more by the arm and leading her deeper into the bowels of the stands. The sounds of the crowd were even more muted in here, buffered by layers of wood and metal. Boards creaked above them, sawdust floating down as the crowds stamped their feet and screamed. Snape wondered vaguely if they were on to the next Champion yet, then decided he didn't care.
He released the girl and paced away from her, feeling anger and disquiet rise in his gut. He passed a long-fingered hand over his face, frustrated. They were both frustrated, he knew. This was an impossible situation and, yes, he was being a complete ass on purpose. His goal was to elicit a response, not speak the truth. His heart wasn't in it, and she knew that. And he knew she knew that.
"Now," he said, turning to face her again. She stood with a hand on her hip, oddly charming in her sincerity, and Snape had to fight hard against a pulse of affection. As it was, he'd forgotten what he was about to say.
"Now," the girl said, taking advantage of his momentary hesitation, "I get to have my say. You've had more than enough of one."
"Gosling…" Snape warned. He had to regain control. The thought was desperate—regain control. Regain control or this will get worse. But the girl ignored him.
"No," Elizabeth snapped. "Do you remember what happened, sir?"
"This is beside the point…"
"Do you?" she demanded. Snape met her eye then, angry.
"Of course I do," he hissed.
"Really?" Elizabeth laughed scornfully, almost cruelly. But however badly she wanted to look fierce, her eyes were still wet and hurt. "That can't be true. Because if you really remembered, sir, you would have apologized to me weeks ago. You wouldn't be this much of a dick. You'd be fair to me."
"Would I be?" Snape asked, turning sharply at this and stepping toward her. Her obscenity had infuriated him, though he knew he had no right. It was utterly inappropriate—something that could have earned her weeks of detention—but he knew he deserved it. That made him angry. This situation made him angry.
Elizabeth shrank instinctively, backing away from him until she hit a giant support beam behind her. She stopped, leaning against it, nowhere left to go. Snape loomed over her, planting a hand on the beam above her head, trapping her there. An evil, awful plan sprung to his mind. She would hate him after today. She had to, for both of them. Mostly for her—Snape had a feeling he would be worse off for this whole experience—but regardless, she had to hate him.
"Fair," he rasped. "You think so?" He pressed closer to her menacingly, closing the distance between them, smelling her scent of vanilla and raspberries. Suspicion and hesitance flashed across her face, and her eyes narrowed.
"What are—?"
"You think I would be good to you?" Snape said. "You believe I consider your feelings?" He shook his head, grimacing. "You are such a child. A little girl with her head in the clouds. Fair." He spat the word, making himself stare into her wide, surprised eyes. "I will not apologize for my actions to the likes of you, Gosling." He shook his head. "Though I suppose I am not surprised that you expect it. Your ego, after all, is boundless."
Snape quickly pressed himself against her body, purposely intimidating and invasive, and she inhaled sharply through her nose. The strap of her book bag slid from her shoulder, and the bag hit the ground. Her eyes flashed, but the surprise was gone from them. She was watching him closely, more aware than he had expected. He worried that she recognized the game he was playing. Desperately, Snape attempted to up the stakes.
"Your perception of this situation is thoroughly flawed," he said quietly, reaching up to grip her chin between long white fingers. She met his gaze fearlessly, looking pale and angry but not hurt. "I care nothing for your petty demands. You want better treatment?" He sneered at her. "You do not make the rules. I will do as I wish, regardless of your feelings. I do not consider your feelings. They mean nothing to me. And they never will, despite your delusions, whatever girlish fantasies are swirling about in that pitiable little brain of yours." The hand planted on the post behind her dropped down to her waist and pulled her firmly against him. "You believe we have some kind of bond?" He scoffed. "You were a pretty little distraction for one night. A body I used and discarded and never planned on having to deal with again. Since then you've been a nuisance to me. You are nothing more than a nuisance, Gosling, and you never will be. And I am losing. My. Patience." He locked eyes with her, forcing himself to look. "Do you understand?"
For a moment, he was sickened by the words he'd spoken, sickened that he was spewing them to the girl who held his affections. Even as lies, they were cruel and despicable. Things he should never have said, even if they weren't falsehoods. Things meant only to hurt. All the same, he was satisfied with them. If anything would do the job, they would.
They were silent for a long moment, and the crowd roared around them. Perhaps a Champion had gotten an egg. Or been killed. It didn't matter to him either way. All that mattered was this damnable girl.
Then Elizabeth smiled and Snape's heart sank.
He was so full of shit. It was actually softening her toward him.
Liz was still mad, sure, but it had been nearly a month. Yes, she wanted an apology. And yes, she wanted to show him her anger. But mostly… Jesus, mostly she just missed him. She missed their inside jokes and long conversations. She missed the smirks he sent her sometimes during Advanced Potions, when his guard was down, or the way he'd linger around her table during class. All the distance between them this month had only highlighted what she'd missed: the signs of his affection, his attraction. When he let himself, he wanted to be near her, wanted to look at her. He wanted her company.
So perhaps she hadn't been completely sure before. But strangely enough, this twenty-four day standoff had completely solidified the knowledge that he liked her. And it followed that he considered her feelings, and he wanted to be fair to her. Whatever he was doing right now, however cruel and shallow he was pretending to be, was some sort of act. A body he used and discarded? Come on! The man she knew, the man she'd gotten to know, would never think like that. He'd never hinted at feelings even so remotely sexist, and Elizabeth had the wherewithal right now to doubt every word that came out of his mouth. And while she hadn't completely figured out his motives, she was absolutely about to call his bluff.
"You're very scary when you try to be," she said. Snape's shoulders stiffened and his hand clenched against her back, balling the fabric of her shirt in his hand.
"Stop, you stupid girl," he snapped, giving her a little shake, but she interrupted.
"What is this?" she said. "Are you actually trying to convince me you're some kind of rapey asshole?"
"You are not—"
"Well, I'm very hurt and intimidated," Elizabeth said, smirking. Snape growled under his breath, frustrated, and looked away. "No, really, you cut me deep there. Very convincing—"
"Shut up," Snape snapped, suddenly bringing his face close to hers. Liz vaguely wondering why he hadn't released her yet. The jig was up. He could stop pretending to have no respect for her.
"You shut up," Liz said, smiling. "Stop with all this 'I don't respect you, you mean nothing to me' crap Just apologize already and get it over with. You know you want to." She smirked at him, which clearly made him furious. She had to stifle the urge to laugh. "I'll accept in good grace and we can go back to the way things were. Unless…" Liz wiggled against him. "...you don't want to go back to the way things were."
Snape's eyes snapped to hers, a flash of surprise crossing them before he composed himself. Liz almost laughed. How did it feel now, with the tables turned? Liz loved doing that to him. He couldn't always have the upper hand…If she had it her way, he rarely would. If they had to play games, he should at least be made aware that she was a worthy opponent.
He pulled her closer to him, the back of her shirt still balled in his fist. Now it was a game of chicken. Who would back down first?
"Did you hear a single thing I said?" Snape asked. "Are you deaf, or are you simply an idiot?"
"I guess I'm deaf," Liz replied shakily, her voice on the edge of a laugh. "Mind repeating yourself? I can't hear you over all the bullshit."
"I am never less than baffled by that ego of yours…"
"It's not about ego," Liz snapped, getting irritated. She was giving him a chance to swallow his fucking pride and just be straight with her. "I am calling you on your lies, sir, and the least you could do after acting the way you have is admit that I'm right. Because I see through it. You're not fooling anyone."
Snape was silent, staring at her with anger-filled eyes, his lips pressed tight. It seemed he had no way to respond—she might have even elicited guilt in him.
"I'm not blind," Liz said firmly. "I'm looking at evidence. I'm looking at the fact that we willingly hung out together all the time and enjoyed every second of it. You sought out my company, not just a few times, but consistantly for months. If I was just a 'pretty distraction,' why the hell did you bother? If I was a nuisance, why did you want me around?" She laughed, shook her head. "I get what you're doing. Trying to drive me away. I understand that's probably the right thing to do." Slowly, Liz raised her eyes to his, watching the turmoil therein. "And we have tried to distance ourselves. Tried to pull away. And you know what? It sucks. I hate it. I hate not getting to interact with you. I hate the space between us. We both hate it. Am I wrong?"
Above them and far away, Ludo Bagman was speaking into a wand, sending his voice booming through the arena. A dragon screamed. The crowd thundered its applause. But it was all muted, meaningless compared to Snape's deep and tumultuous black eyes. He was silent, so Liz took this as a sign that he hated the distance too. She nodded and went on.
"We have something," she said softly, her voice carrying to him despite all the background noise. "Something that could be…I don't know. I don't know what it could be. But I've decided something over the past month. Or maybe I decided it a long time ago, but now I'm sure. I've decided I want to find out. And I think you do, too. And I've decided…" She straightened and took a deep breath, then forced out her next words, her final say. "I've decided I'm not going to let you ruin it for us."
Snape was silent, staring at her with an intensity that she could not decipher. Was it anger? Embarrassment? Oh god. What if she was completely off base here? Liz had just thrown all her cards on the table. She'd been reckless and demanding, so sure in her conviction that his feelings ran as deep as hers. But what if they didn't?
If Snape had scoffed then, had pulled away and called her a stupid girl and reiterated his previous points, Liz's resolve would have broken. She would have run from him, burning with anger and embarrassment, and spent the rest of the year avoiding him. If he had retained his convictions, had insisted that he felt nothing for her, that would have been the end of it.
But he did not do any of those things. Instead, he was silent and unmoving. He still held her close to him, his eyes burning as their gazes locked. He did not scoff. He did not push her from him. He did not say a word.
And Liz, thinking she must have just driven him beyond the brink of madness, had to stifle a little giggle. Her eyes softened, examining his face, and she realized what she saw in his eyes was fear. He was scared. And of course he was. She was scared, too. This had gone too far, and neither of them knew how to deal with it.
So Liz raised her hand and gently touched his face, her fingers ghosting along his cheekbone and down to the strong line of his jaw. He flinched from her at first, then remained still. Liz smiled at him, bringing her other hand up to the other side of his face, hardly able to believe her luck as his arms tightened a little around her.
Then Snape shifted away from her and half-turned, for a moment clearly intent on removing himself from this situation. In another second he seemed to rethink, and he stopped, bringing his hand up to pinch at bridge of his nose. He huffed out a frustrated breath, almost grimacing.
"How…" Snape began, then paused to wet his lips. "How, exactly, do you intend to make this work?"
"I have no idea," Liz said, laughing. Snape scoffed, disgusted, and pulled away from her fully. He turned, again seeming to want to walk away but only making it a pace or so.
"That is less than helpful," he muttered, shaking his head. Liz laughed again.
"I don't know," she said, shrugging. "We could just kind of…play it by ear?"
"Play it by—?" Snape repeated, utter disbelief in his tone. He was not looking at her, his eyes turned to the distance with an expression of complete incredulity. Then he sneered, shaking his head, and finally turned to her. "You are a fool."
"At least I'm not a coward," Liz shot back.
That sparked something in him. Snape turned and started toward her rapidly, almost as though he'd received an electric shock. He was on her in an instant, his arms wrapping firmly around her waist. He pulled her bodily against him, rough and decisive, and stared into her eyes with something that looked a lot like conviction.
"You stupid, damnable girl," he hissed. And then he brought his mouth swiftly down on hers.
His kiss was deep and open, and he fully expected, even hoped, that she would pull away. But her moan contradicted that possibility, and then her fingers were buried in his hair and she kissed him back with all the enthusiasm of a teenage girl. There was no refinement in this soft wet press of her lips, no adult concern over the future. She was allowing herself to be caught up in the moment. Not for the first time, Snape reminded himself that she was never going to set boundaries when it came to them. That when Elizabeth Gosling wanted something, she wanted it fully and deeply and damn the consequences.
He was supposed to be the rational one, the calm one, yet all he wanted, as her mouth opened beneath his and her tongue squirmed against his lips, was to give himself to her fire.
Snape pushed her backwards, against the wooden support post, then into the V where another beam ran diagonally from it. It created a convenient seat for her, and he utilized it, lifting her up forcibly to plant her there. She gasped as he pressed against her, spreading her legs, pushing her skirt up her thighs, wrapping her calves around his narrow hips. He reached up to the clasp of her cloak and undid it with a dexterous twitch of his fingers, pushing it off her shoulders to fall to the ground behind her. Then he ran his hands slowly up her torso, palms pressed firmly, fingers splayed. He wanted to feel every curve, every shift of her smooth warm skin under the thin cotton of her uniform shirt. He ran his palms over her breasts, then up to cup her slender white neck and deepen the kiss. A lovely moan escaped her, perhaps one of surprise, as his tongue and lips ravished her mouth. But she matched his intensity easily, gripping at his shoulders, his back.
Snape's arms circled her waist, and he pulled Liz close, closer, until they were firmly pressed together against the autumn chill. He slid his hands across her lovely body, wishing he could see her bare again. But now was not the time for that. Above and around them, the crowd roared. They were outside, practically in public. They should stop. This was moving quickly toward something more than unwise. But every time Snape thought of pulling away, Liz would moan or move, or her tongue would flick against his, and he would find he couldn't. Gods, the things this girl did to him. The things he could do to her. He wanted it, needed it, now.
Snape's long-fingered hand fisted in her hair, yanking her head back to open her up to him. He knew he was being rough, but she seemed to like it. Her moans were enough to tell him so. She rocked against his body, his hardness under the fabric of his trousers pressing back, just as enthusiastic.
The hand that was not wrapped in her silky hair ran up her torso to cup one full breast, then unbutton the school uniform and slip inside without any ado. Her flesh burned, fire against the November cold. His fingers immediately slid under her bra and circled her nipple, making her shiver—how many times had he wanted to do this, in class, in the Great Hall, in the damn Quidditch arena?
Liz moaned into his mouth, and he felt her hand slide down to fumble with his belt buckle. The girl seemed absolutely determined to move this along. And frankly, Snape was more than willing. The very idea of stopping was torturous.
Then Bagman's voice thundered through the arena. The crowd roared, a hysterical peak. Snape jolted at the noise, pausing and removing his hand from her soft skin, and suddenly remembered exactly where they were and what they were doing. He pulled away from her warm kiss, about to turn and look around, make sure no one was coming...
But Liz gasped, "Don't stop." She reached up quickly to pull his lips back to hers, and he was easily persuaded. Then her hands dropped back down to his belt, and she worked determinedly until it was loose. Tugging it away, she pushed apart the fabric of his slacks and touched him, skin to skin. He grunted in pleasure, gritting his teeth and closing his eyes, and kissed her feverishly. And she moaned and pressed and moved against him, lithe and sensual and smelling of raspberries. And he didn't care anymore—the world was made solely of this girl and her heated breath and her body against him.
Snape groaned and kissed her harder, surrendering to the heat. Echoing his actions in his office a month ago, he quickly reached down and slid his hand under her knee, pulling her leg up to brace her foot against the beam under her. This parted her shapely legs even more, splaying them wide for him. He pushed her short skirt up to bunch around her hips, careless of the flesh of her thighs against the rough wooden beam beneath her. He brought his fingers quickly back down to underwear, hooking it, pushing it aside. She gasped when he stroked her, then introduced pressure in a heated, wonderful rush, rocking his palm back and forth. She threw back her head with a sigh and his mouth found her throat, sucking and biting in a vicious, unthinking way.
They pressed together, skin to heated skin, so close but not close enough. Snape's slacks hung loose around his hips, completely undone. Liz writhed against him, wanting him, her body asking for more. Somewhere far away, a dragon screamed and the crowd thundered. Neither of them were ready to slow down, but this was already moving so fast, he didin't think they could if they tried.
"Are you sure?" Snape rasped, pausing to look up into her eyes. He left the rest unspoken—here, outside, under some glorified bleachers? With the rest of the school mere yards away? With me?
Liz gazed back at him, her face flushed, her lips swollen, looking so absolutely beautiful he couldn't believe he was touching her.
"Yes," she said, breathless, clearly impatient. "I'm fucking sure."
Snape chuckled, burying his face into the side of her neck, swirling his tongue over her skin. And with no more ado, he thrust into her. They moaned together, louder than was perhaps wise, but it was lost in the roar of the crowd above. As their bodies began to move in perfect time, perfect unison, the world once again boiled down to nothing but Liz—her hot breath and soft moans, the way she wrapped her arms around him, her teeth occasionally nipping at his ear when she whispered, yes, this was good, just like that.
Even in such a strange, public place—even with the rough wood of the support beams below them, the discomfort of their position—this was just as good as the first time. Better. The months of tension, all the fights and laughter, the long discussions...And now this, an explosive outpouring of silent desire. Perhaps the thrill of being caught was part of it. Certainly, it heightened the excitement. But really, it was simple. Snape knew the girl now, knew her mind was just as attractive as her body. And to have pieces of both...that was incredible.
Snape reached up and wrenched apart Liz's top, scattering buttons to each side. She laughed, breathless and surprised, only for that to turn into a moan when he leaned down to nip and lick at her soft skin. Their pace increased into something reckless, barely a beat between. Snape's fingers tugged relentlessly at her hair, hardly hearing himself groan. His teeth latched at her neck, her thighs clenched around him. She leaned back, eyes closed in ecstasy, thrusting against him with abandon. Snape groaned her name aloud. Gods, gods, she felt so good…
It was explosive. They felt it reflected in the roar of the crowd above them, blissfully unaware of the bliss that thundered down upon the pair mere seconds apart.
Then they collapsed against each other. They were sweaty and exhausted, but Snape could not honestly remember being happier.
They could only linger for a few moments, though he would have been content to hold her against him like that for hours. Suddenly Bagman's voice was echoing over the stadium in what sounded like a final way, and the crowd began to shift and move, pouring from the stands. Shielded as they were by layers of flags and wooden beams, beneath the arena was no longer the safest place to be.
"Damn," Snape hissed, looking around as the excitable chatter of hundreds of students moving toward the castle became louder. Behind him, Liz exhaled a breathy laugh.
"Damn, indeed," she said, hopping down from her perch and righting her skirt around her thighs. Snape was busy redoing his pants, pushing his sweaty hair impatiently from his eyes. He couldn't find it in himself to be stressed, however, not when he was buzzing and pleasantly dizzy. He staggered, still struggling with his belt, and glanced up to see her looking down at her ruined shirt, helpless. Then her eyes flicked toward him, their gazes locked, and immediately they were grinning at each other. The smiles broke into breathless laughter as Liz tried feebly to fold buttonless fabric over her exposed chest.
Quickly, Snape withdrew his wand from his back pocket and flicked it. The fallen buttons shot back to their places, and the shirt did itself up on its own. Liz smiled at him in thanks, then shook her head.
"Holy shit," she said, starting to giggle again.
"Holy shit, indeed," he replied, and they laughed harder. Snape reached up to pass a hand over his face, disbelief and amusement in equal measure.
"Did that really just happen?" Liz asked.
"I am trying to decide that very thing," he replied. "It certainly feels like a dream." Liz beamed at him, her eyes soft and romantic in a way he found he could really get used to. But it lasted for only a moment before her eyes were distracted to the moving shadows behind him. Hundreds of people, moving along the path, back toward the castle. Snape followed her gaze.
"I think now would be a good time…" he began.
"Blend in with the crowd?"
"Precisely."
"Well," Liz said, tilting her head and stepping toward him. He watched, so used to being wary he forgot for a moment it was no longer necessary. "I'd like to do this again sometime. That okay, prof?" She was so close to him now, and it was such a relief not to have to back away.
"I believe you still have a luck potion to brew," he replied, arching an eyebrow. "My office. Every evening, Gosling. No excuses."
She leaned up then and gave him a sweet, open kiss. It took everything in him not to deepen it. After a few moments, she broke away and cast him another grin before starting for the crowd.
"Elizabeth," Snape said, turning after her, and gods, it felt so good to say her name. She stopped, arching her brow at him. "I know we are, to coin your phrase, 'playing it by ear.' But I trust you to be discreet. I trust you to be smart...smarter than we were today."
But her reply did nothing for his misgivings about this whole ridiculous, wonderful affair.
"Oh, professor," she said, exasperated. "Don't ruin it."
Then she turned, and she disappeared into the crowd.
